chasing sunsets
by scriveyner
Summary: "I'm finalizing the roster, you have a good crew here. Congratulations, Lieutenant Griffin, at your command. Get your team assembled and I expect to see them all in the launch bay tomorrow at 0600." Post S7, the Atlas is going to require more than four MFE pilots to protect it. [Mild Sheith James]
1. Chapter 1

The map on the holo-display flickered slightly as it hovered over the table in the center of the war room. "We've got a direct line on Haggar," Matt Holt said, his voice distorted but recognizable by the static in the comm line. He was clear on the other side of the galaxy by now, with the rest of the remnants of the Voltron Coalition forces he commanded. "Targan traced the energy signature of the robot all the way to the Wosu system before it disappeared."

"The Wosu system has three habitable planets," Sam Holt said, staring at the star map with a look of concern. "And it's not all that far from Olkarion." There was a note of worry in his voice that Matt picked up on even through the distortion of a comm signal beamed across immeasurable amounts of space.

"The Olkari are safe, Dad," he said, and Sam nodded absently, clearly forgetting it was an audio-only conversation.

"It's the first lead on Haggar we have," Shiro spoke up finally, left hand settled on his waist as he looked at the information scrolling on the monitors behind the table. "Thank you, Matt."

"Things are getting wild out here," Matt said. "Wosu is in Coalition territory, or at least it is for now. Our defenses are thin along that side of the border, we're being harried by a self-proclaimed Galra warlord named Grozak looking to expand his reach. I wouldn't waste any more time."

"Copy that," Shiro responded, as Matt signed off. This was legitimately the first lead they'd had in the origin of the Altean-fueled Robeast, and they needed to get Voltron on it as quickly as possible. "How is the work on the Atlas progressing?"

Allura stood beside Keith along the length of the table, a translucent Altean data pad held before her in one hand. "The repairs from the battle are complete, and Coran is nearly done making her spaceworthy once more. The teludav is installed and operational, but he's having trouble integrating the Altean and Earth command systems as the source code is, simply put, barbaric."

"Barbaric? That technology is top of the line!" Commander Iverson drew himself up and scowled at Allura, whose ears twitched a little in irritation.

"My apologies," she said. "Commander Holt did an excellent job with what he had at hand, and that's nothing to take lightly. Coran's modifications should do nothing but augment his initial design."

"Not modified too much, I hope," Iverson's voice was gruff still. "Otherwise your crew won't have any idea how to pilot it."

"Altean technology is intuitive," Shiro said. "I have faith in our people, Commander." He looked over at the line of four pilots standing at parade rest along the wall behind Allura and Keith. "Speaking of which, Commander Holt, what's the schedule look like on the next iteration of the MFEs? Will they be ready by the time the Atlas launches?"

Sam nodded his head. "A half dozen of the MFE-Ares Mark 2s have been completed with the help of our new technicians, and depending on the timeline we should have at least two, if not three, rolled off production before launch." He looked pleased. "We've been able to streamline the design further and drop several hundred kilos off the ship's weight, and equip the new MFEs with faster-than-light engines, thanks to the undiluted crystals the Balmerians provided.

"That's more ships than we have pilots for." Keith had been silent thus far, standing beside Allura with his arms folded.

"Not for long," Shiro said, and looked to Iverson.

"Ah, yes." Iverson coughed into his hand for a moment, then stepped forward. "It seems that some reassignments are in order. Flight Officer Rizavi, Flight Officer Griffin, please step forward." Both pilots snapped to attention and, after a moment, stepped out of line with the others. "Congratulations on your promotions to Lieutenant. There's usually a ceremony for the honor, but you understand our constraints on time. Captain Shirogane has your assignments."

"Thank you, sir!" both newly-minted Lieutenants said, saluting.

"Lieutenant Rizavi," Shiro said, and Rizavi saluted again, being addressed directly. "You and Flight Officer Kinkade will report directly to Commander Holt from here on out. With your help he is going to build the foundation of a fleet of new pilots to defend the Earth."

"It's an honor, sir," Rizavi said, and stepped back into parade rest.

"Lieutenant Griffin, Flight Officer Leifsdottir, you both will be assigned to the Atlas, under my direct command." Shiro looked down at the star map, still rotating slowly on the holo-display. "Any questions?"

"No, sir," Griffin said, and saluted.

"Good. Then you're all dismissed."

##

"This still feels weird," Keith said, leaned against the desk in the small room that Shiro had commandeered for an office. Shiro was seated behind the desk, eyes darting from the data pad propped in his prosthetic hand and the computer terminal's screen. "This whole, military chain of command thing." Keith wobbled his hand in the air as if that illustrated his point, although Shiro wasn't paying attention. "It's hard enough to get a chance to see you as it is, when was the last time you slept?"

"I'm fine, Keith," Shiro said, distracted.

"You're not fine. You haven't slept, you're not eating - and I know you're not eating, so don't even try to lie to me about it. I will go get _Hunk_. Do you want me to do that?" Keith tilted his head to the side, and when Shiro didn't acknowledge him or his concern, said sharply, " _Shiro_."

Shiro sighed and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. "We've lost a lot of good men and women, Keith. Mostly officers and commanders. It's very busy."

"And the Garrison has been promotion people to fill those roles, Shiro, you don't have to take the burden of everything on yourself." Keith's features softened. "We need you, and you need to rest."

"Allura thinks that they'll be done with the upgrades to the Atlas in less than a week," Shiro said, side-stepping Keith's concerns. "We don't have a lot of time left to crew the ship, and asking people to leave Earth when there is a good chance they might not make it home again isn't a task I'm taking lightly." Shiro focused on the terminal again. "Between Commander Holt, Commander Iverson and I, we've got to come up with something that works."

"Yeah, like the fact that we're taking two pilots and eight MFEs? How is _that_ supposed to work, exactly?"

"The goal is a full squadron to fly support; we'll just have to make do with two flights until the final four are done." Shiro glanced back at his data pad. "I need a favor."

"Only if you promise to eat and sleep for at least five consecutive hours," Keith said.

Shiro frowned. "Keith."

"I mean it. I'll _time_ you."

"I know you mean it, Keith." Shiro smiled, and passed the data pad to Keith. "I had Veronica put out an open call that we're looking for more fighter pilots, and between her, Rizavi, and Kinkade they've been cycling applicants through the simulators for the past few weeks to get a feel for what we're looking at. I need you and James Griffin to narrow this list down to a potential roster for a support squadron for the Atlas. The remainder of the candidates will remain on Earth for additional training and to fill out the defense force that Commander Holt is putting together."

Keith looked over the candidate list. "There's only thirty or so names on this list. That's not a lot of interest."

"Not a lot of people passed Krolia's flight test."

Keith let out a low whistle. "Mom programmed a flight test that could be passed? That doesn't sound right." He looked down the list, scrolling with his finger as he familiarized himself with the names. "Half of these don't have commission, civilians? Guess we're not turning down anyone at this point."

"It's a waste to turn anyone down who wants to fight. Will you get with Griffin today?"

"Sure thing." Keith pushed off the table and pointed the data pad at Shiro like a weapon. "Sleep, Shiro. I mean it."

Shiro smiled at Keith, the exhaustion of the past few weeks pulling at his features. "I will, Keith. I promise."

"You better. You know how I feel about Griffin." Keith didn't salute Shiro and Shiro didn't expect it, the Paladins had well established they were no longer a part of the Garrison's regular chain of command, no matter how much Iverson wasn't on board with that. Shiro watched Keith leave his makeshift office and then he yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his left hand before returning his attention to the computer terminal, and to work.

##

"James," Keith called, cutting through the breezeway that led between parts of the base. James Griffin stopped in place and half-turned, looking to see who had called his name and frowning when he saw Keith hurrying to catch up with him. He'd been walking alone, coming from the direction of the commissary, and it was strange to catch him without the other members of his flight. "Congratulations on your promotion."

"Thanks," James said, eyes flickering over Keith's rank insignia. "Isn't that supposed to come with a salute, cadet?"

"Funny," Keith said dryly. "I don't know if you recall, but I was kicked out of the Garrison." He held up the data pad Shiro had given him. "Shiro - Captain Shirogane - needs you to narrow down ten candidates from this list to fill out the Ares support squadron that will be assigned to the Atlas. He asked me to help you out since we're on a time crunch. And," Keith added with a glint in his eye. "Since I'm the better pilot and all, I thought I'd oblige."

James looked like he'd swallowed something sour. "Flying something that can fly itself and flying an MFE are two entirely different things," he said, tone dangerous.

"I can outfly you in anything," Keith said, and tapped the data pad to James's chest. "Name the ship and I'll leave you in my dust." James snatched the data pad and directed his attention to it, looking over the list.

"I'm surprised that Captain Shirogane is leaving this to me, but I know he's busy. Do we have a launch date yet?"

"Next week, probably." Keith folded his arms. "You're a Lieutenant now, anyway. This is _your_ squadron we're putting together here, not Shiro's. Not in the way that counts." James looked shaken for a moment at that, but his expression smoothed quickly back to normal.

"If it were truly _my_ squadron, Rizavi and Kinkade would be part of it too," he said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "But let's get to work."

##

Shiro flipped through the records for each one of the names on the roster James had handed him. "That didn't take you as long as I'd expected," he said, eyes darting up to regard James, standing stiffly on the other side of Shiro's desk. Keith leaned against the wall by the door and yawned; they'd worked the roster down to ten before the sun had set, but it had been a long day.

They were all long days, anymore.

"We only had disagreements over a few of the pilots," James said, and then almost tripped over himself when he realized he'd forgotten, "sir." Shiro waved his hand idly in the air, attempting to dismiss Jame's concern about holding tight to protocol as he read over the list of names. Keith had hit almost all the ones he'd marked on his private copy as potential candidates, Grayson, Carson, Alvarez, Hazama ... his eyes alighted on the last name on the list and he looked up.

"Is this a member of the Blade?" he said, tapping the clearly Galran name with a finger. Keith nodded his head. "Someone you know?"

"Kind of. He approached us about flying with the Atlas, said it would be his honor to crew with the squadron. I think Kolivan wants to keep an eye on us and he thinks that this the best way he can build bridges with the Garrison."

"Is he any good?"

"Not as good as me," Keith said without shame. "Any problems with him being on the crew?"

Shiro lifted his eyes from the report and recognized the tense silence that had filled the room. Keith hadn't exactly kept his parentage a secret, especially now that Krolia had visited him on Earth, but that had hardly been an issue just yet. "Griffin?"

"No problems," Griffin said, stiff as ever. "Sir," he added on again, as an afterthought.

"All right," Shiro said. "Keith, if you'll deliver the news to our prospective pilots? There's a handful that need commissions, go to Commander Holt for that - he'll get the paperwork." Keith met Shiro's eye for a long moment, glittering dangerously, and Shiro smiled at him, hoping to defuse whatever it was he'd very nearly walked into between Keith and James. Keith pushed off the wall, and left the room.

"Okay," Shiro said. "He's gone. Do you have a problem with having a Galra on your squadron?"

"No, sir." Griffin said, at attention, eyes on the wall far above Shiro's head.

Shiro sat back and waited, regarding Griffin silently. He said nothing and stared straight ahead at that fixed point over Shiro's head, but it didn't take long for the silence to weigh too heavy on him. "Permission to speak frankly, sir."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I need to be able to trust my team, and for my team to be able to trust each other implicitly. They're not going to be able to do that staring at the face of one of the people who murdered their families."

"A valid concern," Shiro said.

Griffin risked a glance directly at him. "Sir?"

"For thousands of years, humans have been killing each other despite sharing the same face. The enmity of the Galra goes back even further than that. Keith thought he was good enough to include in the roster over your objections. Did you object to any of the other aliens that were included in the assessment, or was it just the Galra?"

"Does it matter, sir?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't." Shiro tapped the data pad with his fingers. "I'm finalizing the roster, you have a good team here. Congratulations, Lieutenant Griffin, at your command. Get your team assembled and I expect to see them all in the launch bay tomorrow at 0600."

Griffin saluted, and held the salute until Shiro dismissed him.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're nervous," Leifsdottir said, and if she noticed, then everyone else definitely would. James groaned slightly and resisted the urge to stick his head into the briefing room again. There were ten of them in there now, most of the candidates wearing the Garrison's uniform but a handful were wearing civilian clothing, including the aliens. Surprisingly, the Galra sat in the center of the cluster of humans and they were all talking animatedly; for some reason he'd assumed that the Galra would skulk ominously in the corner of the room.

"Where's Captain Shirogane?" James asked Leifsdottir, instead of responding to her statement and swallowing his nerves. This wasn't different from what he already did, not really - there were just more of them now, and there was a difference in rank. Leifsdottir didn't say anything, instead handing him her data pad, and James looked down at the information displayed. It was the roster that had been approved, with designations, room assignments and the four marked whose ships weren't completed and loaded.

"Lieutenant Griffin." James snapped to attention at the sound of Shiro's voice, and both he and Leifsdottir saluted as Shiro walked through the doors. He looked tired; but he had looked tired yesterday, too, and there was a lot of work to be done to get the Atlas deep-space worthy in such a short amount of time. "Flight Officer Leifsdottir, good morning." He hesitated a moment when neither of them moved, and then returned their salute. "At ease, soldiers. Have all the candidates arrived?"

"Yes, sir," Leifsdottir held her hands in front of her, the data pad she used as a shield against the world currently in James's hands. "All ten, although the requisitioned uniforms have not all arrived yet."

"I'm less worried about uniforms than I am about headcount," Shiro murmured. He nodded to James. "You ready for this?"

"Yes, sir!"

##

Shiro held the room with an easy grace, all eyes were drawn to him as he spoke. James envied the way he carried himself, it automatically commanded respect and attention, despite the obvious pall of exhaustion that tugged quietly at him. "Good morning, cadets," he said, as the pilots shuffled themselves into seats and gave him their undivided attention. "I'm sure that most of you know who I am, but I don't like starting off on the assumption that you all know me. So, my name is Takashi Shirogane, and I am the captain of the Atlas." He smiled openly and looked them over. "I'd like to welcome you here, and congratulate you on being chosen for the Atlas's primary support squadron. The MFE-Ares Mark 2 are advanced starfighters, a step above the original MFE-Ares and well above the scope of a usual fighter pilot. Each one of you here today passed your simulations tests with flying colors and showcased exactly what we are looking for as we join the Coalition in full and take this fight beyond the Earth's solar system.

"Each and every one of you have witnessed the way that the remnants of the Galra Empire laid waste to the Earth. Some of you have seen beyond that. We are _all_ united in our desire to ensure that no other being has to suffer at the hands of an invading army bent only on conquest and destruction. We can only do that with the support and capabilities of soldiers - and pilots - like you."

Shiro inclined his head and looked at James, standing stiffly on his right. "Lieutenant Griffin will be your commanding officer, and he will report directly to me. Your mission, and unit goal, is to support the Atlas and her crew, and to support Voltron when needed. Expect lots of training and little downtime in your future as we go live when the Atlas launches. Lieutenant?"

James cleared his throat and stepped forward. "As of right now our unit has no designation so we will be using Ares as a squadron name until another option is presented. If you have a suggestion for the squadron name, please submit it to Flight Officer Leifsdottir or myself.

"Some of you were not officially a part of the Garrison when you volunteered for this, congratulations, you are officially enlisted. Grayson, Nxar, Lujay, Peshk - report to Leifsdottir after we dismiss to get your commission and uniform assignments." James looked down at his data pad. "Your call signs and unit designations are as follows: For the sake of clarity I will be both Ares Lead and Ares One. Leifsdottir is my wing as Ares Two. Alvarez, Ares Three, Nxar, Four." The dark-haired man with an easy smile gave a wary look at the Galra, who was still clad in the uniform of the Blade of Marmora.

"Grayson, you're Ares Five. Can you guess who Six is?"

"Peshk," the red-headed Grayson said with a grin, holding up her hand which the canine alien high-fived.

"Very good. Hazama, Seven. Gotou, Eight. Noor, you have Nine and Gaines is your wing at Ten. Carson, Eleven and Lujay, you're Twelve." James looked up from his data pad, most of the pilots were looking at each other and sizing up their new assignments. "I will be leading One Flight, Grayson is in charge of Two Flight, and Noor has Three Flight. Any questions on organization?"

There was a scattered amount of head shaking, although Noor stuck his hand up. "I want to see the Lions." Several of the pilots chuckled, and Gaines leaned forward from where she was seated behind him and punched the back of his shoulder.

"You will see plenty of the Voltron Lions, rest assured," Shiro spoke over the smattering of conversation and it ceased almost immediately. "But right now there is a lot of work to get done and not much time to do it in. You will see Flight Officer Leifsdottir for your room assignments and general information, and when you're dismissed your time today is your own to settle your affairs on Earth. Spend the time with your families, if they're here. Once we launch, there's no telling when - or if - we'll be making it back." Shiro glanced out over them, and the pilots gave him their undivided attention.

"Congratulations, Ares Squadron," James said. "Dismissed, until 0800 tomorrow."

##

"That went well," Shiro said lightly, in the small antechamber outside the briefing room.

"We'll see how many of them show up tomorrow," James said, arms folded and not looking at Shiro, his brow creased. He was thinking hard, and after a moment his eyes widened at his lapse. " _Sir_ ," he tacked on lamely at the end, because god _dammit_ why did he keep forgetting protocol around this man, he was usually more on top of things than this. He looked up in surprise when the captain put his hand on James's shoulder and smiled at him.

"I don't stand on formality, Lieutenant," he said. "I expect orders to be obeyed, but respect and trust have to be earned; and I don't think hiding them behind military protocol is always the best way to accomplish that."

James blinked at him. "I don't understand."

Shiro let out a small laugh and patted his shoulder before dropping his arm. "No, I expect you don't. That's fine, though, I think you'll understand it when you meet my team." He smiled, although the smile passed from fond to slightly sad and back again. "You're a part of that team now too, though, so don't be too surprised."

"I was in the same class as Lance _and_ Keith," James said pointedly, his tone dry, and that made Shiro laugh.

##

"I want to see your roster," Rizavi said without preamble, standing over James's table with a dark expression.

James looked down at his lunch, and then up at Rizavi before blinking once, comically. "The rosters are finalized," he said after he swallowed his bite, and Rizavi threw herself into the seat opposite his, dropping her data pad on the table and scowling at it. "We already broke the news to the cadets."

"Every single one of your squadron has top flight marks," Rizavi said. "Did you leave me anyone who passed the simulator?"

"We didn't take all thirty of the candidates," James said defensively and decided to take another bite of his lunch, because if he let Rizavi drag him into this debate he wouldn't get a chance to finish it. "Besides, we narrowed the list down by score and compatibility with the mission parameters."

"Plus you get the Mark-2's." She folded her arms on the table. "Highly unfair."

"The fleet will get upgraded to the Mark-2's when the Ares Squadron is completely outfitted."

Rizavi leaned forward on her crossed arms. "I. Want. To. Go. To. _Space_. " She dragged out the last word, eyes glittering dangerously.

"Then talk to Commander Holt about switching with Leif. All she's been doing for the past two days is talking my ear off about every single depressing and terrifying fact about space she knows." He popped another bite into his mouth and chewed for a moment. "I've learned eleven new ways you can die this morning alone."

"You like Leif," Rizavi sighed dramatically.

"Well, yeah. She's my wing. Ideally you and Kinkade both would be joining this mission, I'm kinda pissed that they've split us up. We're a full flight."

"It was always Commander Holt's plan, though." Rizavi sat her chin in her palm and groaned. "That we would all be groomed to lead and teach more pilots behind us since we were the guinea pigs for the first generation of MFEs. It just sucks, I wanna go to space."

"You would have to leave your family behind," James pointed out pragmatically, and Rizavi made a face, puffing out both her cheeks for a moment before exhaling the breath in a groan.

"I know. You act like that's not a bonus." She huffed for a moment. "I can be illogically upset about this, all right? I'm gonna miss Leif, and _your_ stupid face, too."

"Yeah, I know you will." James smirked and Rizavi reached out and punched his arm lightly.

"Don't let that go to your head. You know who else you'll be on board with."

"My entire reoccurring nightmare of classmates from year two? Please don't remind me." James tapped his fork against the empty meal tray thoughtfully. "It's all too easy to get caught up in the wave of ' _shit that needs done,_ ' have you taken a moment to think about what's going on? We repelled an alien invasion. We're going out to space. Not just, even out to Pluto but actual uncharted waters for humanity. There's so much to learn, out there."

"Why do you think I'm so jealous, nimrod?" Rizavi tapped her fingers against her data pad, and the screen lit but didn't unlock. "Of course, those same aliens that we didn't know existed five years ago are now trying to kill us and wipe out humanity, so we gotta take the good with the bad on this one."

"Captain Shirogane seemed pretty certain that another Warlord wasn't going to look twice at our solar system for a while yet. We successfully repelled an invasion from, apparently, the most ruthless of the Galra fringe. Word will get around that Earth isn't to be messed with." James grinned. "And besides, that's what your squadrons will be for."

Rizavi sighed dramatically. "We're gonna have an entire fleet by the time you get back," she threatened. "And I'll be _Admiral_ Rizavi by then and you'll have to salute me."

"I look forward to it," James said with a smile.

##

The ready room on the Atlas had a bank of four simulators built in along one wall, and apparently it was the place to be. James had been doing a walking tour of the pilot's deck; aside from the briefing room they had a ready room that fed directly into the launch bay where the MFEs were docked, the pilot's quarters, and a common area. They also had their own canteen, although James suspected that with the ship running on a bare skeleton crew at full launch that most of his squadron would be taking their meals in the main mess hall.

When the doors parted on the ready room, Alvarez and his wing, Nxar, looked up guiltily. The Galra had been outfitted in a Garrison uniform like the rest of them, and the bright orange clashed gaudily against the violet and magenta markings on his fur. He looked less threatening, somehow, out of the Marmora uniform. Alvarez saluted immediately and, after a confused moment Nxar awkwardly saluted as well.

James returned their salute but waved off their at ease stances. "What's going on here?" he asked, glancing at the status display over the simulators, that scrolled rankings and data about practice missions.

"Practice," Nxar said, his regular speaking voice a soft rumble.

James raised an eyebrow, and Alvarez shrugged and grinned, unrepentant. "All our sim runs have been solo, Lieutenant. Some of us don't have anyone to leave behind, so we might as well get ahead of the pack and log some hours flying with our wing."

A muffled, frustrated noise came from one of the simulators, and when the opaque canopy popped to allow the pilot to exit, that frustrated noise was revealed to be a scream of rage. Grayson popped her head out of the simulator, yanked her helmet off and yelled, "I'm going to _kill him_!" Her head on a swivel, she located Nxar standing in front of the simulators, and her anger dissipated into confusion. "Wait, if you're out here, who's flying against us?"

The second simulator's canopy popped open, and Peshk stuck her head out and groaned, before hauling out of the simulator on wobbly legs. "Okay, I'm done," she said. "I'm out."

"You sure? Drinks are on you, then."

"You go against that lunatic again if you want, but I'm wasted." The dog-like alien popped her helmet off as well, glancing at Grayson still seated in the simulator and stewing. "Oh, no, I'm not doing that _again_ , Kit. Being vaped three times in one day is enough for me, thanks."

Alvarez hiked his thumb at James, who was standing behind them and looking amused. "Maybe the Lieutenant should give it a go," he said. "If no one's beaten Nxar's program yet, maybe he will."

"You wrote a program for them to fly against?" James said, impressed, and the Galra's ears flickered, set in a mane of dark violet fur.

"I did. I compiled flight data from several different sources and created a few different scenarios. This one is a live pilot exercise, one of the baseline flight exercises created by the Blade, only slightly modified to run with MFEs instead." He tilted his head toward the two closed pods. "It allows for live pilots to pit their skills against each other."

"Real live pilots who I'm gonna _fight_ ," Grayson announced, climbing out of her simulator, helmet in one hand and looking like she was actually ready to throw down.

Alvarez stepped between her and the other simulators, arm held out without touching her. Grayson stopped in place and glared at him. "Simmer down," he said. "Lieutenant on deck." He tilted his head and she looked past Alvarez to see James standing there.

Her eyebrows drew together and then she huffed, folding her arms as best she could, helmet still held loosely but clearly over everything about the simulator run. She looked James up and down once. "I want to see the Lieutenant fly the sim," she said.

"There will be plenty of time for that later," James said. "Far be it from me to order you all to take a rest, but maybe cool it on the sims for a little while. You should be out and enjoying your last bit of shore leave on Earth."

The four cadets all nodded, and Nxar bowed slightly in Peshk's direction. "I believe drinks were on you?" he said, and Peshk rolled her eyes and let out a small yipping noise, which was apparently a normal noise for the alien.

"First round," she clarified, pushing Grayson ahead of her with one hand. "You got vaped as many times as I did, Nxar, second round is on you."

"I object, I didn't concede this fight."

James watched the gaggle of cadets leave the ready room arguing animatedly among themselves, before knocking on the still-closed simulator. "They're gone, you can come out now."

The simulator popped its opaque canopy, and Keith pulled his helmet off and shook out his hair. "How did you know it was me?"

"I didn't." James eyed him. "Why are you antagonizing my pilots? Or did you not trust the results we both went over like, fifteen times?"

"Would you believe I was bored? This is the only ready room outfitted with simulators." Keith climbed out of the machine, and set the helmet down atop the still-closed canopy of the fourth simulator.

"Doesn't your Lion have a built-in simulator?"

"Yeah, but it only links to the other Lions right now, and I wanted to fly against your pilots." Keith glanced up at the screen above the simulators, that showed the flight score and kill count. "You've got a good group, Alvarez and Grayson both made things interesting for me, and Peshk almost got me once. I don't think Nxar is comfortable with the MFE's controls yet, though, once it clicks for him he'll climb the ranks fast in the skill department."

"We should be doing live flight exercises, but we don't have enough ships for that yet." James let out a short sigh and then shrugged his shoulders, arms folded. "We'll get to that, hopefully before a combat situation."

"When we launch we'll be heading for Coalition space," Keith said. "We're taking some passengers back, I think Shiro might be losing sleep over having Slav with us long-term." There was an amused smile on his face and James hadn't met the alien, but he'd heard the stories.

"I'm just hoping we get the seventh and eighth MFE before launch. Things are so scrambled right now, trying to re-launch the Atlas with all these new modifications that there just isn't the time or resources to devote to smaller craft."

"It is what it is, at this point. You should see all the modifications on the Paladin's deck alone, it's absurd. Coran and Slav have been up to their ears in it with the Olkari engineers. It almost feels like home again." He paused a moment; a distant, fond expression crossing his face, and then he blinked himself back to the present day. "Actually, if you want we can go check it out and grab a drink. That way we can avoid your cadets haunting the canteen."

James raised an eyebrow. "Go grab a drink, huh?"

Keith gave him a puzzled look. "Yes, a drink? I don't know about you but I'm parched. I've been in that simulator for a while now." He rolled his shoulder and rubbed it, still wearing one of the Garrison's flight suits. "If you don't want to, that's fine. Maybe I'll see Lance about."

The last James had seen of the Blue Paladin he had been covered in small children, but he didn't feel the need to mention that to Keith. "No, it's fine," he said. "If you're so lonely that you have to resort to _my_ company..."

"Don't even _start_ , you're beginning to sound like Lance. You coming, or what?"

James shook his head, amused, and followed Keith out of the ready room.


	3. Chapter 3

The insistent _bzz bzz bzz_ of a communicator buried somewhere under clothing finally reached Keith and he groaned, smacking the first stretch of Shiro he could find without opening his eyes. "Your alarm's going off," he mumbled, burying his face deeper in the pillow and making an attempt to pass back out before he could be engaged further.

Shiro let out a noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, but didn't move.

The communicator ceased buzzing for a moment, before it started up a new, slightly louder cycle of its alarm. Keith groaned louder this time and squinted open his eyes, staring at the broad, scarred expanse of Shiro's back. "Get up," he said, and put his palm against Shiro's shoulder blade, giving him an encouraging push.

Shiro grunted again but refused to wake.

Keith narrowed his eyes. He wiggled slightly closer, and then put both his palms against Shiro's back and gave him a significant shove.

Keith wasn't as big, physically, as Shiro; but he was damn strong, especially when he wanted to go back to sleep and _someone's_ pre-dawn alarm was going the fuck off. Shiro let out a surprised squawk as he found himself forcibly ejected from the bed. However, Keith made a minor miscalculation, because half the sheets went with Shiro. He clawed uselessly at the covers, but Shiro was entangled in them and already overboard, so it was mostly futile. "I'm up," Shiro mumbled from the floor, without moving further. "I'm up."

After a moment, the annoying buzzing stopped, and Keith dropped his head back into his pillow. Then, the motion-activated lights started to come up, and he groaned again, burying his face in the pillow and grabbing for covers he couldn't reach.

The captain's chambers on the Atlas were nothing special; but compared to the sparse pilot's quarters on board the Castleship it was frankly like being in a luxury hotel. There was an actual _bedroom_ , with a main room and office that Shiro would use to conduct official business once they launched, but for the moment was exclusive and private and just about the only space where they could spend time together now that the Garrison was actively paying attention to them.

The bedroom didn't have any exterior windows, the chambers being deep in the heart of the ship, but there were a panel of view screens that could be activated in both the bedroom and office to serve as a live view outside. Shiro had kept both dark so far - the Atlas was currently in the spaceship equivalent to dry dock as the last of its repairs and modifications were completed, so the exterior view would have been nothing but scaffolding and workers, anyway.

(Not that the workers could see _in_ , but it felt weird anyway.)

Shiro sat down on the edge of the bed, yawning, and scrolling through his feed to check his schedule for the day. Keith recovered the sheets and made a nest for himself to block out the daylight, burrowing back into bed and stealing Shiro's pillow as well as a consolation prize.

Shiro looked over his shoulder at Keith. "I will roll you out of bed," he threatened, and Keith extracted a particular finger just for Shiro.

"I'm not the one who scheduled meetings at the ass-crack of dawn," Keith said, refusing to open his eyes.

"No, but as the leader of Voltron you should be present for at least _some_ of them."

Keith mumbled something that might have been a falsetto repetition of some of Shiro's words directly into the pillow, before rolling his head slightly. "Shiro, _you_ don't even need to be at most of those meetings. Ditch. Come back to bed." Keith wiggled enough that he could extract one arm from the sheets and indicated the space underneath it. "The Galaxy Garrison ran itself just fine before we got back to Earth and they'll run it fine for a few more hours all alone. C'mon."

"Half the leadership is dead, Keith."

"What, and you want to take over? Leave it to Iverson." Keith yawned loudly, and finally his head emerged from below the covers. "I was up late drinking, I have a hangover. If you want to go be the boss go ahead, just leave me here to die in peace."

Shiro laughed and leaned back on his hand, reaching to tousle Keith's hair. "Now you're just being melodramatic. Lance _is_ rubbing off on you."

Keith glared at Shiro, batting his hand away and sitting up, finally. Shiro smiled at him fondly, his silver hair tousled very attractively. "You always know just what to say," he muttered, and scrubbed the palm of his hand over his face. "Lance is _not_ rubbing off on me."

"I know." Shiro said, as their eyes met. Keith let out a long sigh, and shuffled over to the side of the bed, bumping his shoulder into Shiro's left one as he did so. Shiro laughed at his grumbling and slid his arm over Keith's shoulders, and kissed the side of his head affectionately. "I'll even let you have first dibs on the shower."

##

"Two Flight, pull it together," Grayson's voice cut across the comm and, after a moment's delay the straggling MFEs caught up, forming a tight diamond formation. James watched the dots on the radar, moving too fast for the flight deck's visual comms to track as they blasted past the Garrison's airspace, exalting in the sheer speed the new Mark-2's could demonstrate in atmospheric flight. James could relate; he and Kinkade had been up at dawn in the Mark-2's, racing the MFEs across the curve of the upper atmosphere and trying to find the the starfighter's limits. They hadn't even come close - the alien technology augmented by Altean design was simply something else.

"Cadets," James said into the comm. "This is a simple strafing exercise; you'll need to drop your speed for this as I really don't want to see you - or any of these very expensive machines - splattered into the side of a mountain." A chorus of acknowledgments filtered in from the pilots in the air, and he watched the radar as they all reduced speed beautifully, without dropping formation. Considering the circumstances, they flew incredibly well as a unit, and he was suitably impressed at their parade formation. The true test was yet to come, however, as this was the first time they were engaging in a live fire exercise.

"You'll notice several pings on your radar. Those are _not_ your strafing targets - they are going to be dragging your strafing targets. Ten points assigned for each successful hit, one hundred points for each target destroyed. Twenty points off for each friendly fire impact. Your weapons are dialed down to ensure you won't damage each other or the craft dragging your targets, but it _will_ register. Any questions?"

Each pilot checked in with a 'no, sir!' and James leaned forward, one hand on the radar station. "Good hunting, cadets."

##

The four MFE-Ares Mark-2s spread out from the parade formation, skimming the dusty desert at a high rate of speed. Neither ship that sat on their radar was visible just yet, they were moving at an equally high rate of speed just beyond visual scope and had started to split off. "I've painted the friendlies as Gray One and Gray Two," Grayson said, flipping toggles and concentrating on her flight path. "Seven, you and Eight break off and pursue Gray Two, Six and I will take Gray One."

"Copy that," Hazama's voice crackled through the comms, and Two Flight split, each after their own target.

The ping on her radar that had been painted as Gray One abruptly stopped accelerating, doubling back and heading straight toward them, overshooting the MFEs at a high rate of speed. Grayson craned her neck, helmet cracking against the back of her seat as she tried to get a visual on either the friendly or their strafing targets. "What the _hell?_ Six, break off, I don't know what Gray One is playing at."

The MFEs split, Grayson rolling to starboard and Peshk to port, and as they rolled their target split the air between the two fightercraft, moving so fast it was almost a blur.

 _Almost_ a blur.

The craft was red and _so_ much larger than the MFEs, and as Grayson pulled her MFE out of its loop the Red Lion of Voltron flew lazily ahead of them, long gray tail swishing through the air casually as easily two dozen small lighted drones trailed it, carried in a shiny fibrasilk netting. The blue, blinking lights on the drones all suddenly started blinking an angry red, and the radar began to beep insistently as it filled with targets.

"Whiskers," Peshk said as she resumed position on Grayson's wing. "It's Voltron!"

There was no response on the comm from the Red Lion, but the fibrasilk netting released, spreading the drones - and the Red Lion turned a tight flip in the air before shooting straight up into the sky, the drones following it without quite as much speed. "Oh, is that the way we're gonna play this?" Grayson said, one hand on her targeting HUD and the other on her flight stick as she narrowed the convergence point on the plasma guns. Without any other signal she yanked her flight stick back, stomping on the rudder pedals and switching directions, zeroing in on the first few straggling drones.

"Five!" Peshk said, but Grayson wasn't paying any attention, opening the throttle to full and racing to catch up with the cloud of targets tagged onto the tail of the Red Lion. They had spread out pretty evenly, but with the way the Paladin was flying the Lion they followed every juke and loop, and if a shot was timed wrong it would easily light up a friendly instead of a drone.

This was going to be interesting.

"Five, we have two MFEs on an intercept course," Peshk reported in, as Grayson fired off the first volley of low-intensity plasma weapons. The plasma sprayed across several of the outlying drones, painting several as hits and at least two destroyed. "They're Mark-1's."

"What?" Grayson kept her flight stick locked tight and spared a quick glance at her aft display. Six was trailing well behind, having lost her wing when she pulled the inverted maneuver to keep on the Lion's six, but there were two other MFEs on her radar now. Grayson opened her comms to a wide broadcast range instead. "Attention unidentified MFEs, this is a live fire training exercise," she said, half an eye on her target and the other half on her HUD. "You need to disengage and return to base immediately."

"Negative, Ares Five," an unfamiliar voice said, as a target lock whined in her cockpit. Grayson swore and twitched her flight stick, yawing the craft and rolling to break the lock.

"Six!" she barked into the shielded comm line.

"Kinda busy at the moment boss," Peshk said, and then yelped _"whiskers!"_ again, as a loud tone squealed through the comm line.

"Ares Six is disabled and out of the exercise," one of the two unidentified MFEs said. Grayson glanced out her cockpit and saw Six, the white plated armor splattered with green from the training rounds. When she tried to punch Peshk on the comm again there was nothing but feedback, the shielded line had to have been disabled from the Atlas.

Well, she could think of a few words more flavorful than _whiskers._

Grayson stepped on the rudder, spinning the MFE and shooting after the first of the two enemy combatants. She flipped her targeting computer from the drones to the craft, and after a split-second realization that she was no longer tailing the Red Lion the craft inverted and darted back the way it had come. Grayson rolled onto its tail, the MFE Mark-2 had a much greater maneuverability score than the original prototype - and a higher speed threshold. There was no way that the Mark-1 would be able to outpace her in a flat speed run.

Her target lock went red as she squeezed off several shots, painting the tail of the MFE with the plasma weapon, but then an additional target lock squealed as the Mark-1's wing locked on to her. Twisting out of the way, Grayson heard the target lock cut off, and then her comm line opened again. "Five, Six, you're both vaped. Get back to the hangar for debrief."

##

Alvarez kicked out one of the chairs at the table in the pilot's canteen. Peshk looked over at him, drinking something clear from a pouch, elbow on the table and muzzle in hand. Grayson had her head in her arms, face down on the table. "So, who got vaped?"

Peshk and Grayson both raised their hands; Gotou at the other table did as well. Alvarez preened, gloating slightly, as Nxar walked around the table to seat himself on Peshk's other side. Grayson didn't even bother to lift her head, transitioning her hand to a single finger salute aimed more or less in Alvarez's direction.

"It was dirty pool having enemy MFEs come out of nowhere like that," Gotou muttered, the heels of his boots on the table. "This was supposed to just be a strafing and target exercise."

"Was it, though?" Peshk said. "I don't think it was."

"Why would Lieutenant Griffin lie to us?" Hazama wondered, leaning back in his chair and looking at the others with wide blue eyes.

"Let's see," Alvarez said. "How many of us got vaped? Four? Out of six hotshot pilots? Them's bad odds."

"Three," Gotou said, indicating Hazama with his head. "This idiot didn't get vaped, somehow."

"Still. Bad odds for a new squadron. If it were a real battle and the Galra Empire got the drop on us, that's half the squadron gone up in so much space dust."

Grayson lifted her head suddenly. "We weren't watching our six," she said suddenly, as if it was a revelation.

"What? I'm right here."

"What?"

Alvarez shook his head as Grayson and Peshk looked at each other in confusion. "No shit, Grayson. That's why you got vaped."

"Not _you_ , Peshk, I meant our six as in," Grayson gestured with her arms, as if they were on a clock. "Eleven, ten..." she pointed behind herself. "Six o'clock."

"It's a military term, Peshk," Gotou said, as the canine alien was watching her wing and looking completely lost. "Based on the face of an earth clock. I don't know how you time-keep, but that's how we identify danger coming at us from ahead..." he gave Alvarez a considering look. "Or behind."

Peshk blinked her eyes slowly and then nodded her head. " _That_ makes more sense," she said, and Grayson gave her a hopeless shrug.

"We _weren't_ watching our six," Gotou agreed. "We were too focused on what we thought our target was that we flew right into a trap."

"Maybe you four did," Alvarez indicated them with his hand. "But Nxar and I smelled a trap ten klicks off." He grinned a little at the vocal scoffs he received in return.

Nxar tilted his head, twitching an ear as he frowned at Alvarez. "But you would have been vaped as well if I neglected to share my data with you in preparation for the incoming MFEs," he said pointedly, and Alvarez deflated slightly.

"I think the point here," Hazama said, "is that we all _really_ suck at communicating with our wings." He smacked Gotou's boots and, with a long-suffering groan, Gotou dropped his feet from the table's top. "We aren't working as a team, either. Not in wings and not in flights."

"It was only me and Nxar in our run, we didn't even have a full flight."

"That's not - that's not exactly my point, Alvarez."

"If the whole squadron was up there, we could have communicated the danger," Peshk said. "Fed our scanners back to the others and cleared the way for them to achieve the objective."

"Who says we can't do that now?"

Everyone looked at Nxar, who had a thoughtful look on his face. Grayson looked around. "Whose MFEs are being used for Three Flight's run?"

Alvarez pointed to himself. "Ours. And the Lieutenant's, too, since they didn't fly with us for this exercise." He got a suspicious look on his face. " _Why?_ "

"I think I know what Five's getting at," Gotou said, standing up. "You have a plan?"

"It depends," Grayson said. "How good are you at distractions?"

##

"Huh," Leifsdottir said, and then didn't say anything else.

James glanced over to where she sat at the monitoring station. The final two wings of MFEs had just launched, the pilots reporting green and having been given their exercise instructions, and it was the first time that Leif had said anything other than to report as normal. That ... was cause for concern. "What is it?"

"There have been twenty-nine anomalous data transfers since we began our exercise this morning, so I monitored the shortwave transmissions. Eleven of them were simply family radio chatter on prohibited channels, thirteen were downloads of explicit pornography via unauthorized wireless devices-"

" _Leif._ "

"The final five broadcasts came from our flight hangar in the last five minutes," Leifsdottir concluded, unperturbed.

"From ... _our_ flight hangar?" James said, looking over to the security feeds. No one was really monitoring them, as they were grounded and not in any danger.

"They were encoded, burst transmissions." Leifsdottir began to type quickly, focusing on the data. "Four comm transmissions and one sensor package. I can have it decrypted in thirty seconds."

 _Oh_. "No, that won't be necessary," James said, returning his attention to the sensors. "I think this strafing run might be a little more exciting."

##

Noor opened the comm frequency between the four MFEs flying in formation. "Three Flight, everyone clear?"

"Package downloaded and delivered, Nine," Ten reported in.

"How are we going to split Gray Wing?"

"We're not, Eleven." Noor looked at his radar, the sensor package already overlaying his own data. The friendly that had been earmarked as Gray One by Five's data was somewhere above them. "Eleven, Twelve, you take the drones trailing Gray One. We'll cover you; then we'll deal with Gray Two."

"Copy That, Nine."

Carson and Lujay's MFEs zipped over Noor's to take the lead as the Red Lion suddenly dove in front of them, trailed by a net full of drones. Just as the briefing notes from Three and Five's sensor data had said, the net disintegrated and the drones spread, pulled along by the backwash of the Red Lion's thrusters. "Engaging drone targets," Eleven reported, and the two MFEs zeroed in on the drone swarm.

"Two unidentified unfriendlies on radar," Ten reported. "Seven o'clock, coming in hot."

"Let's give them a warm welcome, Ten," Noor said, glancing to his radar. "On my mark, break and engage." The proximity alert spun down as the Mark-1's got into range. "Three, two - mark!"

Ares Nine and Ten rolled, dropping off Twelve and Eleven's tail and splitting off. Immediately the two enemy MFEs followed, each tagging one of the pilots. Nine's target lock screamed as he juked his fighter, narrowly missing the spray of low-intensity fire. He stomped a rudder pedal and yanked the flight stick, spiraling the MFE upward and daring his pursuit to follow in a tight corkscrew. If they wanted a demonstration of his evasive maneuvers, then they were going to _get_ one.

##

Shiro looked over the training report and laughed. "They circumvented the training exercise?" he said, reading over the scores. "That explains how a single wing obliterated all the training drones in one pass." He was seated behind his makeshift desk, and although the tiny office hadn't had a lot of furniture in it to begin with, it was empty save now for the desk, the computer and the chair Shiro currently occupied. "Very well done, I think."

James nodded his head once, although he didn't look pleased. "I didn't prohibit them from discussing the exercise after its completion, although maybe I should have."

"Well, even if it was an unintended consequence, the end result was some well-orchestrated teamwork and thinking outside the box in order _to_ circumvent the exercise in the first place. Not a bad result, either way." He put the data pad down on his desk and cracked his neck, and then looked up at James, who was still frowning. "Somehow, I don't think you're too happy about it."

"It wasn't the original goal of the training exercise," he said, and then sighed. "I want to put three of them on report, they broke into the top-level encrypted channels to transmit the message in the first place."

"Did anyone get hurt?" Shiro asked .

"No, sir."

"Then I don't think that's necessary. Besides, the poor showing for the first few wings is punishment enough, until they level out their scores I'm sure that they're buying a _lot_ of drinks for their fellows." Shiro leaned in his chair as the door to his office opened, and then he sighed and said, "don't bring that thing in here _again_ , Lance."

Lance was still in his Paladin armor, and he was carrying one of Pidge's drones in his arms. Outside of an MFE the drone was roughly the size of a medium dog and probably weighed a decent chunk of change, not that James had fiddled with the Olkari technology.

"I'm keeping this one," Lance announced, and then looked around before realizing that there wasn't any place to set the thing down in Shiro's office. "Where'd your couch go? Did you finally decide to get it cleaned? I told Keith you should get it cleaned, who knows who did _what_ on it before you two started-" Lance's attention drifted across James, and he abruptly stopped, mid-sentence. "Oh. Hey, James."

"Lance," Shiro said, with a long-suffering sigh. "Again, with that thing?"

"I dunno, I thought I'd get the drone working now that it's been shot to pieces and the kids could have it. Maybe get a vidcomm installed and then they can have as much Uncle Lance time as they want." Lance shrugged as well he could still holding the drone in his arms.

James eyed Lance slightly, unsure of what part to address. "Thank you for your help with the training exercises today," he said.

"Don't mention it," Lance said cheerfully. "Red was getting anxious being grounded constantly, it was nice to get out and let her stretch her legs for a bit. Not that we did much other than fly circles around the MFEs," he added. "Ryan and Nadia got to do all the fun stuff. Maybe next time we could sortie, that would be fun." He huffed and hauled the drone up, balancing it against the corner of Shiro's desk. Shiro just looked at him. "Where's Keith?"

"I haven't seen him," Shiro said. "I _was_ in the middle of something here, Lance."

James shook his head. "That's okay, sir, I think I got your point. I need to get to work, anyway, Leif and the others are waiting on me." He saluted Shiro, and after a moment Shiro nodded, dismissing him; and he watched James excuse himself out the door.

"Huh," Lance said, folding his arms atop the drone, still balanced between his body and the edge of Shiro's desk. He looked from the door to Shiro. "Can't believe he still doesn't realize you and Keith are boning."

Shiro flushed red. " _Lance._ "

"What? It's true. Either that or you're sleeping together in the same bed and _not_ hitting that, which would be tragic." Lance tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I should ask Keith."

"Lance, _please_ get out of my office. I do have actual work to do."

Lance shrugged and hauled the drone back into his arms. "Just keep an eye on him, that's all I'm saying," he said. "James totally has a thing for Keith, just look at the way he twitches whenever Keith gets mentioned."

"James has a thing for Keith?" Shiro said, and looked back to the door, a frown crossing his features. "You sure?"

"Hey, am I ever wrong?" Lance said cheerfully, and when he realized Shiro was giving him a flat look, added, "Don't answer that. Either he's got a thing for Keith or it's a thing for you, and Mr. Chain-of-Command doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would go all-in on fraternization but hey, who am I to judge? Anyway, gotta go find Hunk, he promised he'd help me reprogram this beast." Lance wiggled slightly in place, like he was considering trying to shift the drone's weight to one arm to give Shiro a wave, changed his mind, and instead hauled the tech out the door.

Shiro stared as the door closed behind Lance, and then let out a long breath, running his hand through his hair before returning his attention to the data on his screen.

Three days, until launch.


End file.
